


For the First Time Again

by RetroactiveCon



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barry Allen Is A Human Vibrator, Frottage, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: There’s a pretty boy at the bar. He keeps fidgeting and glancing over his shoulder; he’s either waiting for someone or desperately, helplessly out of his depth. Hartley crosses to him, gestures at the open barstool to his right, and asks, “Is this seat taken?”
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

There’s a pretty boy at the bar. He keeps fidgeting and glancing over his shoulder; he’s either waiting for someone or desperately, helplessly out of his depth. Hartley crosses to him, gestures at the open barstool to his right, and asks, “Is this seat taken?”

The boy glances at him with wide, guileless eyes. “No!” he says, half-starting from his seat. “No, go ahead!” 

Hartley sits down and makes a show of looking the boy over. He’s prettier up close: tousled hair, sweet little mouth, lean build, awkward coltish legs. There’s a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that stand out against his slowly-darkening blush. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“Uh, my name’s Barry. Barry Allen.” The boy thrusts out a hand. Hartley clasps it and lets the contact linger a fraction longer than might be appropriate. 

“Hartley Rathaway.” He expects a flinch or gasp of recognition. Barry only smiles, not as though the name means anything to him but as though he’s glad his clumsy greeting was reciprocated. “No drink?”

“Uh, no.” Barry ducks his head. “I get a little, um, loud when I’m tipsy? And I didn’t want to make a fool of myself.”

Hartley orders a club soda, the only drink he trusts at this particular bar. When it arrives, he takes a slow sip. “If you’re not here to drink, why are you here? Surely not to dance?”

Barry rocks side to side, not with the throbbing beat of the music but erratically. “I have two left feet,” he admits. There’s a hesitant lilt to his confession, as though he wants Hartley to dismiss it. Hartley hides his smile in his drink. This sweet boy is looking for company, and far be it from Hartley to deny him. 

“It isn’t difficult.” He downs the rest of his drink, tucks a couple of bills under the glass, and slides down from the barstool. “I’ll show you.” 

The eagerness with which Barry trails him to the dance floor reinforces his suspicion. Around them, the music throbs like a heartbeat, resonating behind Hartley’s ribs. He has to shout to be heard. “There’s not a right way to dance to music like this, but you’ll look less out of place with a partner.”

“Okay!” Barry hollers back. He’s already rocking to the beat, an uncoordinated ripple that starts in his shoulders and ends in his narrow hips. Hartley wants to get his hands on that pert little ass, slot a thigh between Barry’s long legs and grind against him until he’s moaning and desperate. Instead, he turns so his back is pressed to Barry’s front, his ass snug against Barry’s hips, and moves with the beat. Barry makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a squeak. “I don’t think this is dancing!” 

Hartley laughs. “Put your hands on my hips.” 

Barry settles his hands on Hartley’s waist. Gently, he guides them down until they’re splayed flat over his hips. “Better,” he teases. “Now we’re dancing.”

Barry only lasts one song before he gasps out, “Too much.” Hartley turns to face him, cups a hand against his delicate jaw, and pulls him into a sloppy kiss. 

“Do you want to keep dancing?” he asks. “Or would you rather get out of here?”

Barry hitches his hips against Hartley’s thigh. His face is scrunched up, eyes shut tight and mouth open around near-soundless gasps. He’s so close that it would be cruel to deny him, so Hartley pulls him into another open-mouthed kiss and grinds against him until he comes. The way he shudders almost certainly gives him away, but Hartley keeps moving, pretending they’re dancing. 

“I hate being hypersensitive,” Barry complains. He buries his face in Hartley’s neck while his breathing evens out. Hartley kisses his hair. 

“If it’s any consolation, we need never return to this particular bar.” Since Barry has broken character, he feels comfortable doing the same. This is no place for a debrief, but he can allay any fears Barry might have about their public display.

“What about your turn?” Barry pulls back just enough that he can meet Hartley’s eyes. Hartley smirks. 

“There are other clubs, sweet boy. Come on—let’s get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case the out-of-roleplay part at the end was too short, they'd arranged all of this in advance - it wasn't really their first meeting, and Barry was fully on board with being danced on. They do a little more negotiating in the second chapter before Hartley's turn as the 'innocent one'.


	2. Chapter 2

True to his word, when they have the time and energy to flip the script, they go to a different club. Hartley gives Barry a kiss before the game starts. “I make no promises about my performance.”

“Yeah.” Barry shoots him a small, proud smile. “I have a way of making you fall out of character, I know.” 

Hartley stifles a laugh. In his defense, he’d been pressed against a wall in the Pipeline, and Barry had fucked any thoughts of the game (and, indeed, any thoughts at all) out of his head. If that’s a promise that he’ll be fucked stupid by the end of the night, he can’t wait for Barry to make good on it. “It’s also been a long time since I was innocent, and unlike you, I lack the ability to affect it quite so easily.”

“Don’t worry.” Barry steps closer, crowding Hartley against the wall of the alley. He goes ever-so-slightly weak at the knees and has to press closer to the rough stone for balance. “I’ll do my best to keep you flustered.”

Hartley manages a breathy chuckle. The idea of Barry flustering anyone is little more than cute: even at his most confident, he’s coltish and awkward, his attempts at seduction hampered by the fact that he’s ill at ease in his body. However, he’s intimately familiar with Hartley’s weaknesses, and judging by the glint in his eye, he intends to exploit as many as he can. “I’m sure you’ll surprise me.”

The look Barry gives him is so unashamedly fond that he can’t help pulling him into another kiss. He’s the first to draw back. While Barry is still hazy from the kiss, he teases, “I can’t wait,” and strides toward the mouth of the alley. 

The club is lit by strobing lights that make Hartley’s stomach churn. Rather than aggravate the rising nausea with alcohol, he orders a club soda. He’s almost finished it when a warm, teasing voice says, “Designated driver?”

Hartley turns to see who’s spoken. He doesn’t need to—that playful voice couldn’t be anyone but Barry—but he imagines a bashful young man would look before speaking. Barry grins at him, slow and intent. His eyes are wide and dark and _hungry,_ and Hartley finds himself breathless with the need to be devoured. “Uh,” he manages. “Something like that.”

Barry sits beside him without asking. Most times, he sits down as though he’s trying to compact his gangly limbs into a space too small for them. This time, for once, he owns the space he occupies. It lends him an easy grace that makes Hartley shiver. “Barry Allen,” he says smoothly, holding out a hand. 

“Hartley. Uh, Rathaway.” Hartley’s breathy confusion is a great deal less feigned than he wants Barry to know. Because it seems in-character, he blurts, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Barry shakes his head. “Nah. I’m not here for a drink.” He studies Hartley in a way that leaves no doubt about his intentions. Hartley squirms, feeling bizarrely, deliciously exposed. Were he not playing such an innocent character, he would climb into Barry’s lap without question. 

“Do you want to dance?” he asks, deliberately obtuse. The thought of the way this newfound confidence would translate to the dance floor makes heat pool in his belly. 

Barry looks him up and down, assessing, considering. When he says “Sure,” his voice is a low, eager purr. 

Hartley lets himself be led onto the dance floor. He plays hesitant, walking slowly enough to pull Barry’s arm out between them. Barry seems not to mind, taking advantage of the distance between them to rock his hips, slow and sinuous. Without warning, he tugs Hartley’s hand sharply enough that he stumbles against Barry’s chest. It’s unexpected, and not for the first time, Hartley finds himself flustered and breathless.  
“O-oh!” He makes a show of looking up to meet Barry’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“My fault.” Barry cups Hartley’s elbows and helps him find his footing again. Quietly, Hartley curses himself for not having a proper drink. He wouldn’t have let himself get drunk, but he could have played up being tipsy so that Barry would have to steady him more often. Barry would have seen through it immediately, but that’s half the fun. “I just meant to pull you a little closer.”

“Well, it worked.” Hartley says it breathlessly, but he doubts he can hide the sarcastic glint in his eye. Barry bites his lower lip to hide a smile. 

“I guess so.” His hands drop from Hartley’s elbows to his hips. Hartley gasps and pretends to shift away from Barry’s touch. If, in reality, he shifts closer, Barry will understand. “May I have this dance?”

“Uh…yes.” Hartley gives him an uncertain smile and lets himself be coaxed into moving his hips. Unlike the last time, when he kept them pressed together, Barry periodically breaks away and spends a few bars moving on his own. By the third or fourth time he breaks away, Hartley can’t handle being teased anymore. “Barry, please.”

“Oh.” Barry pulls him close and rocks slowly against him. The pressure makes Hartley’s eyes cross. “I’m sorry, it’s cruel of me to tease.” He drops his voice to a whisper, barely audible even with Hartley’s enhanced hearing. “Do you want me to get you off here or take you back to mine?”

Hartley makes a show of glancing around the room, feigning shyness. When he’s confirmed that nobody is looking, he murmurs, “Yours. I…I want you to…”

Barry nuzzles the hollow behind Hartley’s ear. “To what?”

“Take your time with me.” He wants Barry to make good on his playful threat to make Hartley fall out of character. A quick fuck in the club bathroom, no matter how enticing it sounds, is far less likely to achieve that. 

Barry nips the sensitive skin at the angle of Hartley’s jaw. “I want that, too.”

If they were truly willing to stay in character, they would take a cab. They do not. This serves the dual purpose of getting them back to their flat more quickly and not scandalizing any cab drivers. 

Hartley barely has time to complete this thought before he’s pressed against their front door. Barry grabs his hands and pins them above his head with one hand. There’s a soft _click_ as he turns the lock; then he brings his other hand up to cup Hartley’s jaw and draw him into a kiss. When they part, Hartley breathes a dazed little “Oh” and looks up at Barry through his lashes. “Are we…are you…?”

Barry gives him a playful smirk and murmurs, “You’re adorable.” 

Hartley can’t blush on command. Instead, he ducks his head and plays shy. “Adorable? Really?” 

Barry skims both hands down to Hartley’s waist and squeezes ever-so-gently. The fact that he’s so clearly being careful makes heat suffuse Hartley’s limbs. He wants Barry to toss him around, to overpower him despite (entirely feigned) hesitance. Instead, with that same gentle touch, Barry draws him forward into their flat. “I made promises, didn’t I?”

“Uh-huh.” He skims his hands up the front of Barry’s shirt, undoing buttons until it falls open. 

“Like what you see?” The pleased smile that spreads across Barry’s face makes Hartley shiver, as much from the contrast to his usual bashfulness as from the heat in his eyes. 

“Oh, yes.” Hartley pulls him into another kiss. It’s desperate and clumsy, Barry’s hands fumbling at the buttons of his shirt while Hartley scrambles with the warm metal of Barry’s belt buckle. The shirt falls open, slides down Hartley’s arms, and tangles around his elbows, forcing him to forsake Barry’s clothes to shed his own. No sooner has it fluttered to the floor than Hartley is falling forward. He catches himself on his hands, the mattress bouncing merrily beneath his palms.

“Hey.” Barry smiles up at him, his eyes bright with amusement. 

“Hey,” Hartley replies, dizzy from the fall and eager to press closer to Barry’s superhuman warmth. As much as he wants to lean down and catch Barry’s lips, he pushes himself up so he can appreciate the tableau. Barry spreads his arms out to either side and arches his back, showing himself off. Hartley brushes a hesitant hand over the pale, freckled skin of his chest. “You’re beautiful.”

“I could say the same.” Barry leans up and catches his lips. Hartley follows him down as he lays back on the bed; then, without warning, he’s on his back. Barry nudges his legs apart and crawls between them, and oh, he’s naked. He almost breaks character to chide Barry for using his speed, but he’s much too grateful for the convenience to complain. 

“Are you gonna fuck me?” He tries for the same shaky false bravado with which he’d asked this question of faux-Wells. It works every bit as well on Barry, who draws in a sharp breath and hitches his hips against Hartley’s bare thigh. 

“Oh God yes.” 

Despite his eager answer, he takes his time, working Hartley open with his fingers at a leisurely pace. Hartley whines and fucks himself on Barry’s fingers, begging for more, but Barry is relentless. When he starts to vibrate, Hartley barely bites back a yelp. 

“Don’t be cruel!” 

Barry tugs on a nipple with his teeth. “You’re going to come on my fingers,” he says, his voice rumbling through Hartley’s skin, “and again on my cock.”

“Please.” Hartley presses his head back into the mattress and grabs at the covers in a futile attempt to ground himself. “Please, please, I can’t…I…” His babbling pitches up to a high, desperate keen before he comes. Barry finger-fucks him through it, still vibrating. When he slumps back on the mattress, wrung out and helplessly relaxed, Barry switches out his fingers for his cock. 

“Fuck.” His hips jerk forward too fast, wrenching a moan from Hartley’s lips. “Sorry, sorry.”

He apologizes by peppering kisses across Hartley’s chest. One of his hands finds Hartley’s, still loosely tangled in the covers, and laces their fingers together. Hartley squeezes instinctively, grateful for another way to ground himself.

“Don’t apologize. Don’t…oh God.” His head drops back and he moans. Barry takes advantage of this to suck a bruise into his neck. Hartley arches his back, exposing more of his throat to Barry’s eager mouth and changing the angle in such a way that they both moan. “That, that, yes…”

“It’s not too much?” Barry checks. 

“A little.” Everything Barry does sparks pleasure that borders on painful. Hartley has never been averse to a little pain. “But don’t you dare stop.”

“Bossy,” Barry chides. When Hartley opens his mouth to reply, he starts to vibrate again. 

“Oh not fair,” Hartley gasps. His free hand tangles in Barry’s hair, pulling him up for a sloppy kiss. Barry smiles against his lips. Before Hartley can wonder what he’s going to do, his whole body has blurred into motion. Everywhere they’re touching is suddenly electric, and Hartley sobs into the kiss. He can’t tell if he’s feeling pleasure or pain, only that there’s so much of it that he can’t think. 

“Easy, easy.” The overwhelming vibrations die away into a low, soothing hum, then stop entirely. Barry’s fingers card through Hartley’s hair. “Sorry. I think that was too much.”

Hartley opens his eyes. His body is almost completely numb, unable to process anything in the aftermath of such vigorous overstimulation. He manages a weary laugh. “I think you broke me.”

“Sorry,” Barry says again. He’s bright-eyed and flushed and clearly post-orgasmic, although he’s sitting beside Hartley instead of cuddling close to him. As much as Hartley loves cuddling him after a game, he’s grateful for the reprieve. “Sometimes I forget that you can’t just go and go.”

“Spoiled,” he chides, although there’s no heat in it. He can hardly claim to dislike Barry’s absurd refractory period when he takes such delighted advantage of it. 

“I’m not gonna do that whole-body vibration thing again,” Barry says. “Not like that.”

“For a first round, feel free. You’ve done it before by accident, and I like it.” Hartley tries to move the hand that he remembers Barry holding and finds that he can. At some point, Barry let him go. He would be disappointed if he didn’t suspect that, at the time, it was a wise decision. “As an encore, you’ll either need to give me a substantially longer respite or try something else.” 

“Sorry.” Barry ducks his head. Hartley catches his hand and brings it to his lips. 

“You don’t have to apologize for trying something new, sweet boy. And I would like it if you cuddled me now.”

Barry curls against Hartley’s side, tucking his head into Hartley’s neck and draping an arm over Hartley’s waist. Once he’s comfortable, he murmurs, “You liked it, though? Not the vibrating part, but the rest?”

Hartley nods, Barry’s hair tickling his cheek. “I liked letting you take the lead.”

“It felt good.” Barry’s head tips up, bumping ever-so-gently against Hartley’s jaw. He wants to look up and gauge Hartley’s expression, but the way they’re laying makes that all but impossible. “The way you looked at me, I felt like I was…powerful.”

“Would you want to flip the script again?” Hartley had expected to be far more nervous than he was. The last few times he’s let Barry top him, including the game in the Pipeline, he never truly surrendered control. He’d been afraid that it would remind him of faux-Wells, but Barry was too attentive to his care for him to feel anything but safe. 

“Yeah.” Barry nods. “Although I’m just as happy when we aren’t playing a game! I like it when we just kinda fall into bed.” 

Hartley chuckles and kisses the top of his head. “That much I knew, sweet boy, although now that we’re in bed, I think the best thing we can do is get some sleep. If you’re too tired to work tomorrow, Cisco will never let me hear the end of it.”

In reality, Hartley is the first to fall asleep, but he doubts Barry is keeping score.


End file.
